


Divested Interest

by jenny_of_oldstones



Series: The Love Nest [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-08 19:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: Hawke once threatened a Templar in order to keep Fenris's mansion from being torn down. That threat comes back to bite him.





	1. Chapter 1

Hawke was awakened by the sound of hammers.

He bolted upright. Daylight streamed through the bedroom windows, and the fire had burned down to ashes. The hammering was close by. Too close.

“ _No_.” Hawke sprang out of bed. Fenris grumbled a sleepy question at him as he threw open the door. 

Hawke ran naked down the hall. Last night, he had slept over at Fenris's mansion in the back room that the elf had decorated for them. Their “love nest,” Hawke had called it. It was his favorite place in the whole world—the only place in Kirkwall where the two of them could make love in peace and truly be alone.

It was also the place Hawke had very recently threatened to murder Knight-Lieutenant Bentley over if Bentley ever tried to condemn the mansion again.

Hawke came sprinting around the corner, past men swinging sledgehammers and men pushing wheelbarrows. They gaped at him as he ran into the foyer and into the vestibule, right out the front door.

Outside, a group of Templars was crowded around a table set with wine. They were pointing at a blueprint, nodding along with a sweaty foreman.

“ _You_.” Hawke pointed at the nearest Templar.

The Templars startled. The one Hawke pointed at went pale.

“Champion,” he said. “What—what are you doing here?”

Hawke stormed up to him and lifted him by the throat. “You’ve got five seconds to clear out before I gut you like a fish.”

The Templar’s eyes bulged. “I—I can’t, ser. We’re here on Knight-Lieutenant Bentley's orders.”

“Not good enough.” 

“Please—”

“Bentley has no right,” said Hawke.

“I have every right.”

Bentley stepped out from under the shade of the mansion, his hand resting casually on his sword.

“The mansion is condemned,” said Bentley . “I said I would see it torn down, and I meant it.”

Hawke dropped the Templar. It had been only a week since Hawke had threatened to flay Bentley alive if he ever came within five-hundred feet of Fenris’s mansion, though he wouldn't have guessed it from the cocky grin the boy was giving him. 

“You really want to push this?” said Hawke. 

“I do,” said Bentley . “You see, our little talk made me realize just how badly Kirkwall needs someone with integrity to solve its problems, not—” He sneered at Hawke’s nakedness. “Whatever you are.” 

“This mansion is no business of yours.”

“The Templar Order has taken over the duties of the Viscount’s office until the office is filled, including those related to housing and real estate. It is my business, Champion. The same cannot be said of you.”

Hawke chuckled. “You might have jurisdiction on paper, but you aren’t the only armed force in this city. Guard Captain Vallen won’t stand for this.”

“Aveline Vallen is no longer Guard-Captain,” said Bentley.

The afternoon ground to a halt. All the adrenalin roaring through Hawke’s system went cold. “What?”

“I told you the last time we spoke: I audited her records. Captain Vallen lied about this house repeatedly over the years. She should consider herself lucky I don’t arrest her for fraud.” Bentley tilted his head. “Just think, Champion, if not for your insistence to keep this mansion for your pet, your friend might still have her job.”

Hawke slammed into him like a landslide. His fist connected with Bentley jaw and the rest of him followed him down. The boy kicked and screamed. Templars were shouting. They dragged Hawke off him, Bentley laying on the ground cradling his bleeding mouth. The glare he gave Hawke was murderous.

“You have assaulted me, sir,” he said.

“I’ll do worse to you, you weasely cunt.” Hawke thrashed against the arms holding him. “I’ll kick your balls into wine. I’ll cut your mother’s tits off and feed them to you.”

“Champion of Kirkwall." Bentley got to his feet and brushed himself off. “I always knew you were nothing but a thug.”

Hawke started to lunge at him, when a soft voice spoke up. “That is enough.”

Fenris stood in the doorway in his trousers and house tunic. His hair was still rumpled from sleep.

“Kill him!” snarled Hawke, pointing at Bentley. “Bleed him! Defend your home!”

Fenris did no such thing. His eyes slid calmly over the armored knights surrounding them, then said, “My mansion is condemned?”

“It is not your mansion,” said Bentley, turning his head to spit blood.

“No matter. I will leave.” Fenris reached into the darkness of the mansion and pulled out his bag and sword. “Come,” he said to Hawke.

“But—”

“Come.”

Hawke bared his teeth. He slung off the Templars and stabbed a finger at Bentley. “This isn’t over.”

“Oh,” said Bentley. “I believe it is.”

Hawke turned and followed Fenris. He was halfway down the street when he turned around and went back to the mansion.

“Forgot my pants,” he said. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ll murder him. I’ll cut his cherries off.”

Hawke paced back and forth in front of his fireplace. It had been half a day since the incident with Bentley, during which time the demolishers had continued their destruction of the mansion. Varric sat in an armchair, watching him.

“Calm down. There are ways to deal with this,” said Varric.

“Yes, they're called knives.” Hawke slugged back a shot of whiskey.

“Easier ways to deal with this,” said Varric.

“I told him that if he laid a finger on Fenris’s mansions that I’d cut his lips off,” said Hawke.

“Well, sure, but that won't change the fact that the Templars own the house legally.”

“All to spite me!” said Hawke. “And Aveline.”

The room grew quiet at that. Fenris was sitting on the rug in front of the fire, stroking the mabari’s head. He and Hawke had gone to Aveline’s house after the altercation with Bentley and knocked on the door. Donnic had answered it. “She doesn’t want to see you right now,” was all he said, with a look equal parts pity and disgust. “I suggest you leave.”

“You could take it to court,” said Varric.

“The mansion will be rubble by the time it works through the courts,” said Hawke.

“You could bribe the magistrate to speed things along,” said Varric. “Half the nobles in this city owe you their lives.”

“Still too slow.” Hawke couldn’t stop pacing. The thought of Fenris’s mansion, their love nest, being dismantled as they spoke, was like a hot iron in his belly. “We need to kidnap Bentley, break his kneecaps, break his mother’s kneecaps, and force him to give us back the mansion. And Aveline’s job.”

“I just really think there’s an easier way to go about this.”

“Easier, maybe. But I want to make that little bastard hurt.”

Varric sighed. “Under all those silks, you’re still the bloodthirsty smuggler I met in Lowtown all those years ago, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am," said Hawke. “So, are you coming with us?”

“Actually,” said Fenris, speaking for the first time. “I think I will go to the magistrate tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” asked Hawke.

“I believe I am in agreement with Varric,” said Fenris. “It will be more expedient to appeal to the proper channels.”

“You must be joking. Don’t you care that they’re tearing down your house?”

“I do. But you have tweaked the lion’s tail. I do not wish to further endanger our friends’ lives with recklessness. Bentley can still arrest Aveline, if he chooses.” 

Hawke hadn't considered that. “We won’t be reckless. All we have to do is tickle Bentley a little, and he'll come to his senses.” 

“Yes,” said Fenris, drily. “Because that worked so well the last time.”

Hawke glared at him. Fenris was no man’s dog, but he usually went along with Hawke’s schemes, when prompted.

“I don’t see how you can be so calm about this,” said Hawke.

“I have suffered many indignities in my life. More so than you. Not all of them require my rage.”

“It’s our love nest!” 

“Which is why I will petition the magistrate tomorrow,” said Fenris.

“Feel free to drop my name then,” said Hawke, a little nastily. “Not that you’ll need to, darling, because that little pissant will be put in his place by then.” He slammed down his glass. “Are you coming, Varric?”

Varric looked between the two of them. Fenris shrugged.

“Guess so.” Varric hopped off the chair. “Can’t let you go and do something stupid alone.”

“Great.” Hawke threw open his wardrobe and began to take out his armor. “By this time tomorrow,” he said to Fenris, “we'll be back in bed, and you’ll owe me then.”

Fenris gave him a flick of his wrist as goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke spent the night perched in a tree in an outer courtyard of the Gallows. He and Varric rowed a dingy across the harbor, then stole like shadows into the fortress, keeping to the rooftops and eaves. They sat outside Knight-Lieutenant Bentley's window, watching his comings and goings.

“Look at the sniveling little shit. Drunk on his own power." Hawke bit into an apple. “One title, and he thinks he’s king of the world.”

Varric straddled a branch nearby. “Did you apologize to Aveline?”

“She didn’t want to see me. I’ll talk to her once we’ve gotten her reinstated,” said Hawke.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Besides, it wasn’t my fault. She’ll see that.”

Varric hummed.

“What, Varric?” said Hawke.

“I don't know.”

“Spit it out.”

“You did kind of threaten the Templar who you knew had dirt on her. All so you and Fenris could keep having sex in a trash heap.”

“That’s not remotely what happened.”

“It’s seems like that’s what happened.”

Hawke fumed. “First of all, Bentley was the one who sacked her, not me. Second, it’s Fenris’s mansion. I was defending his home.”

“So that you and he can keep having sex there.”

“I feel like you’re judging me, Varric.”

Varric sighed. “I’m not, I’m just, nevermind.”

They went silent. The waves slapped distantly on the rocky shores of the Gallows. A Templar patrol carrying torches strolled around the courtyard. 

“I’ll make it up to her,” said Hawke, eventually. “After we deal with Bentley.”

Varric sighed and went back to polishing Bianca.

* * *

When midnight rolled around, Varric oiled the hinges on the window, and together they stole into the Knight-Lieutenant’s bedroom. Hawke bonked Bentley on the head, wrapped him in a bedsheet, and carried him out of the window on his shoulder. They dragged him under the cover of darkness to the little boat and rowed back across the bay. There was an abandoned warehouse nearby that Hawke knew from his smuggling days, and he steered the little craft there.

Hawke splashed Bentley with a bucket of water. "Rise and shine." 

Bentley gasped awake. He spluttered, his eyes wide. He was tied to a chair, and the chair was nailed to the floor.

“What—who—my _head_ —”

“Are you from Kirkwall, messere?” Hawke set down the bucket.

Bentley blinked at him, incredulous. “What?”

“He wants to know if you’re from Kirkwall, kid,” said Varric, who was seated on a barrel nearby. “From your accent, I’d say Tantervale?”

“Yes. I’m from Tantervale.”

“And you’re new to this city?” Hawke went to a crate where his tool belt was laid out.

“I was transferred to Kirkwall a few months ago.” Bentley blinked hard against what was, no doubt, a very bad headache.

“That explains why you haven’t learned the rules around here,” said Hawke.

“You can’t do this to me,” said Bentley.

“Rule number one—I can do whatever I want.”

“You’re nothing but a thug.”

“I am. Which makes even stranger that you thought to cross me. Because rule number two—I always keep my promises.”

Hawke selected a knife that was as thin as a leaf from his belt. He held it up to the light. “Now, which of these did I say I’d use on you if you touched my mansion?”

All the color bled from Bentley's face. “No.”

“No? You think you’re the first man to be tied to that chair?”

Bentley thrashed against his bindings. The planks under the chair legs groaned, but held.

“HELP!” he screamed. “SOMEONE!”

“The patrols don’t come here,” said Hawke.

“HELP! PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OFF ANDRASTE! HELP! HELP ME!” 

Hawke waited. Bentley shouted until he was red in the face. He thrashed some more, then slumped.

“Do you have any idea,” said Bentley, “what Knight-Commander Meredith is going to do to you? When she finds out you’ve kidnapped a member of the Order—”

“And when will that be? After they drag your body from the harbor?”

Bentley's mouth clamped shut.

“See, here’s the thing I’m confused about.” Hawke stepped closer. “I told you what would happen, and you went and did it anyway. Who did you think I was? A man of honor? I was killing men before you were even a penny in your daddy’s coin purse. I turn little children into orphans and put better fools than you on the pyre. Isn’t that right, Varric?”

Varric shrugged. “Eh.”

Hawke raised the blade. "So unless you change your mind about a certain mansion and a certain Guard Captain, we both know how this story's going to end." 

“You-you’re willing to go this far for a crumbling heap of stone?” 

“I could say the same to you.”

“A crumbling heap and a corrupted Guard Captain?”

“Mind what you say about Aveline,” growled Hawke.

“We have records of her misconduct going back almost a decade. She conspires with apostates, aids and abets pirates, to say nothing of turning a blind eye to your misdeeds.”

"And your point?"

Bentley's eyes flashed with rage.

"My point is that Kirkwall is a city of laws. You kidnap me, threaten to kill me, and for what? For doing my duty? For tearing down a hovel and sacking a crooked guardswoman? I am guilty of no crime, messere. You may think you have this city wrapped around your little finger, but that's just because everyone is too afraid to stand up to you. Well, I'm not. All I did was treat you and your friends for exactly what you are. It was your choices that led us here, not mine!" 

Hawke stared at him, amazed. "Kirkwall is a city of laws? That's a new one. You really aren't from around here." 

" _Champion_ ," snarled Bentley. "You disgrace that title, and I will do everything in my power to show everyone just what you are."

Hawke chuckled. He couldn't help it. "You think this city doesn't know what I am?" 

Hawke turned the knife over in his hand. The lantern light caught on its edges. 

"Kirkwall's not a city of laws, friend. It's a city built on blood." 

Hawke laid the flat of the blade against Bentley's cheek.

"The people named me Champion because I'm exactly who they want me to be. That's why you're in the chair, and I'm here holding the knife." 

The boy swallowed. "I won't break." 

"Wrong again," said Hawke. "When I'm done for you, not only will you give me everything I want, you'll never dream of raising a hand against me again." 

"You won't get your mansion back."

"I will."

"Aveline Vallen will never serve in this city again."

"She will." 

Tears began to form at the corners of Bentley's eyes. "I won't." 

Hawke removed the blade. He stared at Bentley for a long time. Then he drove the knife down into the knuckle of his first finger.

Bentley howled. It was a loud, wet wailing that seemed to go on forever. Hawke drew out the knife. 

"Are you going to give me back my mansion?" asked Hawke.

Bentley whimpered. His lower lip trembled. "No."

Hawke drove the blade into the meat of the next joint. Bentley's heels drummed on the floor.

"Please," he wailed.

"All I need is your word, and it ends," said Hawke.

Bentley shook his head. "No."

Hawke shoved the knife down deeper. He could feel it probing through cartilage and muscle. Bentley's screams became begging sobs.

After a half hour of delivering delicate pain to the boy, Hawke began to get frustrated. There were only so many little hurts you could deliver before contemplating big ones. The problem with that, was that Bentley would likely die before he could sign the paperwork back at the Gallows that Hawke needed. 

That, and Hawke was starting to hate this little shit who wouldn't break. 

"What is it with you?" Hawke tapped the boy's chin with the knife. Bentley's eyes were milky with pain. "You're really willing to die for the honor of tax codes?" 

Bentley let out a breath that might have been a laugh. His voice was faint, but clear. "Everything you do, reveals what you are." 

"That so?" 

"Your friends....will pay....and then you'll know.....that everything that happened to them....was because....of you." 

A rush of rage surged up Hawke's neck. He felt his teeth bare in a grisly smile. 

"You really think you're better than me? You, the Templar? You think _your_ friends won't suffer for what you've done?" An idea sprang into Hawke's mind. "And you do have friends, don't you? Loved ones? Family?" 

Bentley's eyes cleared a little. 

"I did my research on you," said Hawke. "You have a little sister. A mother who lives in the merchant district. A house with a blue door. How long do you suppose they'd last under my knife?" 

Bentley swallowed, his face beginning to tremble. 

"Varric," said Hawke. "Go get his mother." 

"What?" asked Varric.

"I have his address," said Hawke. "Go to her, tell her who her son has crossed, and bring her here."

"I didn't think you were serious before when you said you were going to break his mother's kneecaps." 

"I'm always serious.

"No, please," said Bentley.

"Maybe bring the sister, too. She's smaller, easier to carry. Nine years old, isn't she?"

Bentley lunged a little in his chair. It was no use.

Varric didn't move. Hawke turned to him. "You're still here?" 

The silence this time went on longer. Then Varric rose and went out the door. It creaked softly shut behind him.

"Now," said Hawke, cheerfully. He bent over and examined Bentley's sweating face. "We just have to wait." 

"No," said Bentley. 

"No, what?" 

"I'll revoke."

"Be more specific." 

"I'll call off the demolition. I'll give Vallen back her post." 

"I have your word?" 

"Yes." 

"Because we both know what'll happen now if you decide to cross me again." 

"Yes. I'm sorry." 

"Good boy." Hawke wiped the knife on the boy's knee. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?" 

Bentley said nothing. He sagged against the ropes, staring at the floor. The only sound in the room was the soft drip of blood and a moth fluttering around the lantern.

* * *

After Hawke had cleaned up, he left Bentley in the chair and stepped outside. He was not surprised to find Varric leaning against the wall of the warehouse.

"Done before dawn," said Hawke. The sun was just beginning to lighten the horizon. "I have to admit, I didn't think he'd last that long."

"Yeah."

The dwarf's face had a gray pallor. It was hard to tell if it was just the light.

"You know, Varric," said Hawke, "I get the feeling you're not happy with me." 

Varric let out a long breath. "Most of the time I like you, Hawke. But sometimes?"

Varric turned his face up to him. "What do you take me for?"

Hawke wiped his knife with a rag. "A crook." 

"Yeah, but I'm also your friend, which is why I'm going to ask you this, and I want you to tell me the truth. Did you really expect me to go grab an old woman and a nine year old girl and bring them here?" 

Hawke wiped his knife. He kept wiping it, even though there was no blood left. "What do you think?"

"I think most of the time I can tell with you. But tonight?" 

"You picked a fine time to grow a conscience, Varric." 

"I need you to tell me to my face that it was a bluff."

"It was a bluff."

Varric stared at him for a long time, then looked away.

"I don't know what you want from me," said Hawke.

Varric said nothing. 

"He came after Fenris's home. Aveline's job." 

"Yeah, and maybe you should have been smarter about both of those things." 

Hawke stared at him in disbelief.

"You're actually judging me? You? Of all people?" Hawke felt slightly unhinged as he lurched away from the warehouse. "That little maggot deserved it."

"Yeah, he probably deserved something. But not his family. Not a kid."

"Oh, a little mutilation is fine, but the moment I start threatening people's families you get cold feet?" 

"Yes," said Varric. 

"I did what I had to do."

"You did what you always do," said Varric. "And maybe that's the problem." 

Hawke pointed the knife at Varric's face. " _Nobody_ fucks with us." 

Varric put his finger on the knife tip and pushed it away.

Hawke stood up straight. The knife was hurting his hand. He forced himself to relax. The seagulls were beginning to wake up, and their heavy wingbeats brushed the roofs of the warehouses. Someone somewhere was grilling fish and oil for their breakfast, and the salty smell of batter floated on the breeze.

"Make sure you apologize to Aveline when this is over," said Varric. 


End file.
